In His Eyes (Obsession)
by nattyzeenha
Summary: What if Christian's so called love grows into a dangerous obsession, putting Ana in danger as he is driven to get her back after the happenings in Fifty Shades of Grey, and willing to get to any lengths to never let her leave again? (Set after Anna leaves Christian because of the playroom incident.) (Rating may change)
1. Chapter 1

Note from the author: This is my first fanfic and I apologize for any grammar mistakes. I am Brazilian and my English might not be the best yet. I do accept open-heartedly your opinions and reviews.

**Ana P.O.V.**

Yet another day has gone through and little of it makes it into my conscience. I vaguely remember sitting here for the last couple of weeks, hugging myself in such self-pitty scenario I can't shake myself out of, and letting what little is left to my mind wonder what he is doing now. I move to my bathroom - so empty, so un-homely - aware of how pathetic I must look from the outside: my utterly broken, destroyed soul showing off through my equally disgraced body. He wouldn't be pleased, and the mere thought of his anger toward my current shaken health state sends shivers down my spine as I evaluate the image before me in the mirror. I am positive that's me, though I do look like I've been ran over by a dozen wild mammoths.

Deciding I should no longer endure myself in the hard task of looking at the sight in the mirror, I throw my body and mind into an oblivious shower before getting ready for my new week at work. Things are going smoothly _- for that, at least, I thank Go_d - with my new boss and co-workers, and my new job has proved to be a rather easy job to perform. Or perhaps it's only that Jack has being so oddly and inconveniently nice to me. I often catch his eyes analyzing me out of a distance, and I let my mind wonder what he sees when he looks at me. I must look awful, at the very least, though I do my best to be presentable at work - is the most professional thing I could do and, as of right now, I have decided to dive my mind and heart into my carreer, willing to go at whatever lengths to make it into my life's purpose once again. Instead of him. Instead of us.

But he never leaves me. The thoughts haunt me throughout the day and even when I put my mind to work, he's there, lurking in the bottom of my mind, waiting to surface. I am often under the impression his eyes are following me wherever I go, and more than once I considered that maybe they are. Not his real, deep, gray, cold eyes, but his guard, the eyes he pays for, the eyes that I had grown to accept in the previous weeks. But there is no way around the truth, and I force myself to face it once more: he's gone. There's no one watching me, no one following me, and his silence and distance have been just enought proof of that. He doesn't care.

_I mean, what really did you expect, Anastasia? You left him. You wanted it to be like this._ But... somehow, I also hoped he'd put up a better fight, he'd let me feel just a little bit loved before he let me go completely. He didn't, for he did not love me and could never do so. That's just something I'll have to live down to.

My parents and Kate have been worried. Of course I did not went all the way through the reasons of our break up - if I could say so, since we were never together in a real relationship - but all of them know me just as well to sense how broken hearted I am. Mom took a lot of convincing not to fly herself down here when she first heard me sob on the phone, and I secretly felt great that she was willing to do so. God, how I love her. How I wanted to crawl into her arms and cry this pain out. BUt then again, it wouldn't be fair letting her drop Bob, her life, everything she had there to come here and aid me in my time of need. God knows how long it will take before I can heal, even just a bit. So I relieved her mind compromising to fly there this wednesday - Jack had already allowed me to resume my work from there for a couple of days - and stay over the weekend with her and Bob. It's gonna be good. Perhaps that's what I need: some unconditional motherly love, steadfast and long-lasting. She's even trying to convince me to get definitely back home, to rebuild whatever I can of my life in Georgia. The idea does not repel me, as I notice everytime I give some thought to it, but I still fear, deep inside, that if I leave Seattle Christian and I will me done for good.

You are already done for good - my subconscious reminds me bitterly, and though I try to hate her for telling me that, I know she's right. I know she's always been right. What little left of my inner goddess laid spread on the floor, pale and seemingly comatose, and I could never feel less desirable.

* * *

**Christian P.O.V.**

Little there is to remember from the past days. I've sinked into liquor as never before - even in the darkest days of my teenage years - and all seemed like a blur from a couple of days. But I could not let it last longer than it did. I am fucking Christian Grey, and I have to pull msyelf together and think. But whenever I seem to lift up my spirit a little bit, the image of her eyes - her deep, breath-taking blue eyes - comes back and I dive into what I could only call hell.

My chest aches, and all my muscles fight the urge to hit something. To hit someone. For many times, I've thought about hitting her. About making her pay, punishing her for making me feel this way and locking her here so she could never walk away from me again. But then I feel like hitting myself - and so I did, several times - because that's exactly what drove her away: my anger. My need for pain. For her pain. But what hurts most now isn't her sore back, or my hurt hand, but my soul - or what little of it I have left. It iss shattered, spread across memories of her - oh, such sweet memories, permeated with her ever so enduring scent. Oh, Anastasia.

My mind did not leave her for one minute since the day she left, and I've gone all the way to hiring new staff to follow her around - unnoticed - and report back to me on every single detail of her life. Does she hurt? Does she miss me? Can she forgive me for being the monster we've always known I was? I am...? I contemplated the idea of forcing her back a couple of times - and even got my teamed prepped up to do so, even against Taylor's best advices - but when I saw her that day - the first day of her second week at work - through the dark windows of my new unrecocnizable car, walking toward the deli to pick up her lunch, everything melted away. She already looked thinner, perhaps seven or eight pounds down, and her eyes popped out of her fair skin, scaring the shit out of me. Soon I saw why, noticing she left the deli with nothing but a coffee and a cinnamon stick. Oh, Anastasia, MY Anastasia, what are you doing? I fought the urge to hurry and feed her, to force her into going back to what she was - her beautiful, healthy self - but I could not move. The sorrow in her eyes, the melancholy in her movements froze me in time, and the reality of how much I had hurt her sank in once more.

What can I do to have her back? I'm willing to spare no costs, no trouble, no pain to get back what's mine, to get my Anastasia back to where she belongs, begging for me, wanting for me. But as I grew to understand in the couple of weeks we've been apart, I also want what she silently and unspokenly promised me: her love. She said she loved me. How could an innocent little thing love me? How could I do that do her? Even the thought of breaking her life as mine is broken scares the living shit out of me. Fuck it, Grey. She's too perfect, too sacred for you to come and break her into some shit like yourself.

My mind had wandered to some other land - where everything is simple, and Anastasia is at my feet, where she was supposed to be in the begining of all this mess, worshipping and adoring me, but not loving me - when Taylor woke me up from my thoughts. I feel the growth of the anger in my chest spread all around my body. What does he want? Can't he leave me be with my fantasies and my fucked up life?

- What is it, Taylor? - I manage to snarl behind my teeth, and he somewhat shrinks at my reaction - good, at least I still impose some fucking respect on my staff - before handing me a brown paper file with Anastasia's 3x4 foto attached to it. I give it a momment of thought before flipping though the pages, eager to know what the fuck had he faced that needed my immediate attention.

As I get it, I freeze. My whole body stiffens behind the copy of what I think to be my last defeat: a flight ticket in the name of Anastasia Steele, for two days from now, to Georgia. She could be visiting her mother, I know, but what takes me and what I know also crossed Taylor's mind is that there isn't another ticket. Only one. One-way trip.

She's going to leave me. The air in my lungs refuse to move, and I realize I haven't breathed for sometime now as Taylor reaches for me, concerned for whatever he sees in my face. I stand back, avoiding him as I wander around my office. What the fuck. She's leaving. She's leaving. My heart shrinks at my chest and I realize I cannot let her slip through my fingers like this. I cannot sink deeper into the self-loathing I've put myself into lately, I have to fight back, to think clearly, to get her back.

I reach out for my Blackberry and suddenly everything comes back into place. I am the fucking most powerful man in this city, and miss Steel is HELL wrong if the thinks she can just flee from me. She'll see what I can do. She'll know better than to run away from me after I'm done.


	2. Chapter 2

**Quick **Note: I know some of you are here solely to see how Christian's obsession goes down to the crazy path it will eventually go, but I want everyone to understand first and all that it is not a sudden thing to happen. He is demanding and oppressive, and possessive, yes. But from there to reaching obsession - specially from the point left on the end of the first book - there's some way to go. I will do it progressively, showing exactly how his mind breaks to the point of being truly dangerous to them both. But I'm loving your reviews and support! Much love, will try to go on with the story as fast as possible. I'm also very eager to get it out of my system! It's now 1pm, and I intend to have the next chapter finished as soon as 10pm or so.

* * *

**Christian's P.O.V.**

I spend nearly three hours on a rather unnecessarily heated discussion with Welch about how we should procceed into Anastasia's matters before I am able to return my thoughts to the documents in hand. Taylor and his new men did not fail me in gathering whatever tip of information about Anastasia they could. Some of those facts render useless, in fact, but I peruse them nonetheless. Nothing concerning Anastasia could desinterest me, even the tiniest detail about what she ate - or as matter of fact, DID not eat, because she trashed it by the time she got to SIP - for breakfast, what she wore and what time she slept. Somehow, it makes me feel even further from her, knowing so much and being able to do so little right now. I'll handle it, though. I'll fix everything. I'll fix you, I'll fix us, Ana.

All is on it's way according to what we agreed - Welch, Taylor and I - but I cannot simply stay here facing my office's exquisite view of Seattle knowing she's out there, getting ready to leave this place and all about me behind her. Poor girl. She won't know what hit her. The thought of her surprise, of her anger - yes, because she will most definetely be mad at me, as far as her cute madness go - of her eyes rolling and defying me in a way only her smart mouth and her daring eyes can result in a squirm as my body responds to her mere memory. Before I realize, I'm out my office, shouting at my assistant when she tries to tell me some fucker is waiting for my appointment, in less then five minutes. My mind is twirling, yet my body seems to know just where to go, leading me where my heart and my major erection truly want me to be.

* * *

**Ana's P.O.V.**

My lunch break is not exactly much different than the rest of my day, since I have no strength to go out and actually get some fresh air and stuff; so I just stay in my desk, running through my e-mails, deleting old ones - Christian's, mostly - and making room for my new life. And though I think it to myself, I still don't believe it. There will be no new life for me at all. What else is there beyong paradise? Nothing could ever reach the happiness I was granted in the brief time Christian made me his - and still, oh... still... how could he make me suffer so much? Was I bound to have all my life's worth of happiness in such a short time and spend the rest of it paying its price?

My screen flashes and I realize I've got a new e-mail. The jolt strikes my brain, but I soon settle down in my chair - realizing I had practically climbed it on my back - as I breath out the remetend. Mother. We have been exchangid e-mails for the last weeks, purely because I can't manage to speak to her without giving away to the pain and sorrow I so cautiously avoid showing off here at work.

_From: Carla  
Subject: Will I...  
Date: June 10, 2011 09:25  
To: Anastasia Steele_

… _ever get used to this whole internet thing? We could just call each other, you know, honey. But I get that you are a little shaky still, and that's okay. Your father just sent me the receipt for your flight ticket, and I'll try to do that scanning thing for you. We don't know when you'll go back - if you'll go back - so we bought only one-way ticket. You could aways just buy the other one at the return time, anyway. Georgia-Seattle flights are always so empty, you know. _

_Still hoping you'll come to stay, baby girl,_

_**Mommy.**_

I smile at her repulsion toward technology, knowing I got much of my own share of it from her. My lively, cheerful mother, always so eager to make me smile, even if she won't ever admit making a fool out of herself purposefully.

_From: Anatasia Steele  
Subject: Mom...  
Date: June 10, 2011 09:27  
To: Carla_

_...I cannot and will not leave everything behind right now. Maybe in the future, but right now I'm working hard to get what I want here. I'll be coming back by sunday, and that's the end of it. Stubborn mother of mine. _

_**Anastasia Steele**_

_**The loving child of your life, but also pridely Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP**_

Our brief talk fuels my body, whatsoever, and I manage to raise to my feet and contemplate the possibilities before me: stay and ruminate everything I've been feeling lately, or go out and get a brief yet welcoming breeze of fresh warm air. And so I do, heading down the stairs - suddenly too excited to wait for the elevator - and across the reception.

The fresh breeze is as recomforting as I thought it would be, and I allow myself to close my eyes and simply take adventage of the warm sensation spreading throughout my once stiffened body. My muscles relax and finally, for the first time in a while, I feel my cheeks burn in happiness. I'll be okay. I have to be okay. I'm alive. I have my parents, a few friends. I can live through this, and I surely will.

When I find the strength to push my eyes lids open, the vision I find both awes and scares me. He's standing there, across the street, seemingly casual, carefree, as if nothing had happened at all. He has his strong arms - covered by his well-cut suit - crossed to his chest, and nonchalantly he shapes his hair around his long steady fingers. Those fingers that have met every inch of my weak and shy body, through which a light spasm cruises just to the sight of him. How could he do this to me, even now? Mess with my body and my mind and my heart in ways I wish I could avoid?

* * *

**Christian's P.O.V.**

I watch Anastasia pat out of the building and am enlightned by the most enchanting vision I could possibly have: she doesn't see me just yet, and closing her eyes she takes a deep, deep breath, a weak yet gentle smile spreading across the gentle shape of her lips. Everything's gone. All the pain, all the anger, all the hurt. I mean to call Taylor and call all the plans off, but I just stand there, watching her, amused. by the responde my body has to her.

Our eyes meet, finally, and a moment of shock stands between us, heavy, almost touchable in the thick air. I move foward, large step by step, but the traffic stops me from reaching her just already. It's here, the sexual tension I'm aware there has always been upon us. Fuck. I want to take her into my arms, put her over my car and fuck her out of her crazy alluring mind right here.

And my world shatters. Anastasia breakves our eye contact and her eyes widen in pure and utterly annoying fear. What the fuck is she scared of? It's me, Anastasia! i scream in my head because the words simply won't come out of my twisted mouth, because I find myself outraged. Angry. Possessed. My fist flies over the air to my hair, and I pull it as it all happens.

She turns on her heels, and I watch - unable to reach her in time - her wide-opened hazel eyes search out for something around her. An escape route! The damn woman is about to slip through my fingers right before my eyes and a fit of rage takes over me.

- Anastasia! - my voice rings, breaking the wind in a scream full of any and everything. Desperation. Fury. Fear. So many feelings in a name. - Stay where you are. DO. NOT. MOVE. - my words sound harsher than I wished they would, and her fear spreads unmistakably across her oh-so-adorable features, her very common reaction to my explosive manners. She doesn't seem to hear me, but we both know better than to believe that. She climbs into the ride of a motocycle which I failed to acknowledge nearby, tapping a man's shoulder - a blonde, slim man, bearing a hideous headgear - and murmuring something beyond my ear's reach. I launch in their direction as soon as the traffic stops, but it's fucking too late. In a miserably dangerous move, the man took off, taking Anastasia, MY Anastasia, in the back seat of that death trap of a motocycle.

My head boils. My hands shake. Oh, the things I'll do when I put my hands on you, Anastasia. Visions cross my mind, but I do not allow them to blind me. If they do, I'll lose them. I find my way to my car and take off in their trail. I somehow manage to see them in the next avenue - a long, crowded one - and have my final sight of her waves of hair as she looks at me over her unprotected shoulder - FUCK, he didn't even give her a fucking helmet or what? - as they disappear just around the corner.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ana's P.O.V.**

His words echo, bouncing within my skull as they come and go from one bone to the other. My name. My name in his voice, uptight, husky even, in the way only he can make it sound: each syllable holding a promise, a threat, and... a hope. I could bear his anger, I could fight his words, I could make my point across fairly easily if - and only if - I didn't feel him around me. His presence took my surrendered heart and sprained it even further, as if there were much more harm to be done to the poor thing. And I knew, right then, facing his dark enlarged gray eyes, that if he came indeed any closer, his sexpertize, his energy, his voice, his touch... he... would damage me for good. I would give in. I would forget. And I do not want to forget, because it took me quite a while to get to terms with my choice, with the pain I chose to live with far from him. It is my gift for both of us, my strength gathered at one not-so-simple plan: he'll find someone who can fulfil him in ways I could never think of, and I...I will remain with what little is of me. Maybe one day I'll be loved. Maybe one day someone will be able to do some of what I can't dare to ask him.

So I eloped. Not very classy, I must admit it, but it was handy. Daniel, the delivery boy just recently hired by Jack - I have to remember to thank him later for that - was just outside SIP, getting ready to start another trip, as I made up my escape plan. Away from Chirstian, at least from his gaze. I intend to call him at some point, I guess, but I just can't talk about us, about any of this while his eyes seek into my soul - which they often do - and his hands awaken my body. If it must be done, we'll deal with it, but from a safe quarantine.

Daniel is more than ready to jump into this crazy plan of mine, and I had barely began explaining when he pulled me over the motorcycle, whispering above the wind that I should keep myself tightened up against his body at all moments. Holy cow. I'm not ready for this. I shouldn't have done this. Now he's driven me far away from where Christian once stand, and I let my mind drift in the cool, soothing rock of his bike, my face rested closely against his back. Nhm... He smells somewhat like a good memory, but I can't quite put my finger on it. As the adrenaline wears off and the minutes pass, I realize he's driving us toward my neighborhood, though I don't imagine he's doing it purposefully. How could he know, after all? My mind slips to Christian, for he knew. He always knew everything. But Daniel isn't Christian, nobody is. And as saddening as the thought is, it also sends a weird sense of relieve through my frozen spine. I'm giving up a life of pleasure and thrill, but perhaps if I play my cards right, I might just end up with someone nice enough to make me feel good with myself.

This is good. Motorcycles, I mean. I never gave a thought about it, growing up with an extremely paranoid father and an over relapsed mother, but the sensation does strike me now. The wind, the smells of the wild nature around us, the warmth of the human body between my arms... It feels like freedom. And such sensation is something I've been deprived for long enough.

* * *

**Christian P.O.V.**

The traffic suddenly disappeared and I drive faster than I ever naturally would back to Escala. My blood boils and it seems ready to flood my mind at any time with thoughts of hunger, revenge, anger, despair, fear. Fear. No fear in my life came closer to what I felt when I saw her - MY Anastasia - climbing that machine. So reckless, so deprived of whatever sense of self preservation she ever had! She for sure will never get a step CLOSE enough to a motorcycle again, and I'll make sure the fucker who took her is also reminded to not mess around with me. Fuck. This is completely messed up. I screwed it all, didn't I? I scared her away in some random dude's arms. A random dude. Shit, does she never realize how dangerous this type of thoughtless actions are? How she could have got hurt?... Could... Or maybe is. My mind freezes and I follow as I intended to before my thoughts freaked. Welch is only a couple of buttons away and soon enough his voice fills the car.

- Welch. I want to know where Anastasia is. RIGHT. NOW. - my voice breaks sometimes before I'm able to fix it into some steady rythim once more.

- But sir, her phone is still un...

- I don't care how you do it, but you better do it quickly or I'll see you ass on the street MYSELF.

- If you could brief me, sir, I could have something to work with.

- Fuck it with the details, Welch! Anastasia just flee in some SIP's boy's motorcycle and I want her back at Escala in thirty minutes. Understood or should I spell it out? TWENTY NINE minutes as of right now. I couldn't care less if you have to envolve the hell of the FBI.

The call silenced, and I realize I'll end up causing an accident the way I'm driving. I pull off the car, parking it silently in a small market. Shit, Anastasia, this is what you do to me. Drive me crazy. Borderline insane! Fuck you, and fuck me! And fuck us... Because I only wished you were in my arms at this moment, sharing this peaceful parking lot with me. The innocence of my imagination surprises me, and I more than willingly change it to what I will do once she's back with me. What I'll say to her. I'll have her security doubled! She won't be able to ever pull a stunt like this on me again!

I grow more anxious as the minutes painfully drag, not knowing what or how to do. It is ridiculous how such a little girl could render me so... weak. Helpless. Is this love? This painful feeling that drags me down some dark corner of the hell I hold inside me? If it is, I would give anything to never experience it again.

My phone rings, and I gather all my remaining calm to check it. Not that I intend to answer any calls but Taylor's or Welch's, but still... The number on the screen is unknown, and I ignore it. Whoever it is... it will have to wait or leave a message. I couldn't care less.

* * *

**Ana's P.O.V.**

I try calling Christian when Daniel and I stop in a gas station and he so thoughtfully lends me his phone - Christian still has mine, I acknowledge. He does not answer, though, and I find myself listening to his brief, rather rude message on his answering machine. It is not until my fourth try that I give up and let the call go through. I'll leave a message. Maybe it will sooth him just enough so he doesn't come after me. I hardly doubt that.

- Nhm... Christian. It's me. Ana. Ahn.. I'm okay. I know you were worried the way I left, I just... Well... I couldn't... Rmm... Just rest assured that I am completely fine and will be heading home. Please, do not come after me again. This is just so... fucked up, Christian. I can't even... _what... ? Yes, I must have some coins in my purse. You can just look though it, Daniel, I'm almost done here._ Ahn... So... As I was saying... Good bye, Christian.

I stick to my promise - even though it was never really one - and head right home. As matter of fact, Daniel takes me. We part with only polite farewells and I must remind myself to let him know, once things are settled down, how important his help was today. Maybe we could have tea - but, I laugh to myself, he does not look like the kind of person to go for tea. Surprisingly, I think of him for the next hour, letting my mind wonder what would he like to do, what type of person he should be. He seemed forthcoming enough so that maybe we could be friends. Hell knows I could use some right now.

The apartment feels lonelier than I remember without Kate. She's still with Elliot, and I am not sure if the distance between us is worse than the likelihood of having to face him daily when they return. He'll probably be around a lot, and seeing how easy going Elliot can be would only hurt me more, knowing that I could never have with Chrisian what magic he and Kate have. She'll be Mrs. Grey. It's painful, and I climb my bed, not even bothering to strip out of my work clothes. I just need some time to sink in the sorrow flooding my dark room.

* * *

**Christian's P.O.V.**

Welch's found Ana in her home. Apparently safe and sound. And as I drift out of my worries - for now - I check the message left on my phone. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It was her. She must've changed numbers. She probably doesn't want me to contact her, but I save it anyway. Who is she to decide whether I should or not perceive her? Doesn't she get how much I need her right now?

But I realize that if I press her any further this night, she'll collapse for good. I'll drop it. Tomorrow is her trip, anyway, and I'll be more than happy to make some arrangements to get us some private time. Some long and lasting pleasurable private time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: This chapter is a little bit shorter, yes, but I wanted it to be separated from the rest of the flight's course because right after it the rating might change. I'm still not sure if I should make it explicit, or just make it inferred. What do you guys think? **

* * *

**Anastasia P.O.V.**

My sleep is nightmarish down to my very core, and thankfully most of it is out of my system - and my memory - by the time I'm fully awake. I vaguely recall Christian's voice, devilish and agonizing all the same, calling and calling my name. "Anastasia, please..." the unearthly sound of his plea echos, but it's overlapped by the pain caused by the other side of the coin: his anger, the diabolic image my mind creates of him, one I don't really recognize. He was never, ever a bad person. Much less a diabolical one. Nevertheless, it is how my dreams pursue him, and I cannot help thinking if this isn't indeed a wake up call from my subconscious. Perhaps she knows - that woman deep inside my brain - something I refuse to accept. Maybe she knows who he truly is.

And yet, his smile, his gentle and irreverent grin by that car, yesterday, haunts me throughout my short morning as I prepare my luggage - packing much more than I will probably need, visited by my mother's wish - and head to the airport. Proper to a mid-week morning, I find it rather empty - for which I thank, because I am not in the mood for lines - and the whole proccess takes less than ten minutes. Soon enough I'm sitting in the boarding room (***), right next to gate 23, awaiting my flight. It's fairly close to the departure time, but it seems I'm the only one waiting! It's weird, and it feels wrong. I check if the flight wasn't cancelled and no... it is just on time. Ha! Lucky you, Anastasia. Maybe I'll get the whole row for myself, then. This day is beginning to brigthen up. I relax and wait. And wait. I almost slip in a fast sleep, but finally my flight is here. I get aboard and the silence creeps the hell out of me. Where is every one? I do like that it's not a full flight, but... this is fucked up scary.

I take my seat and wait. Wait. Wait. No one boards. Finally a flight attendant approaches - heading down the end of the plane - and I stop her, questioning her about such odd circumstances. She says it does happens sometimes, and that there are only two booked seats, and we will be waiting for the remaining passenger for a couple of minutes.

Realization becomes me before I see him. Holy freaking cow. My eyes widen and I find his amused expression, right down the aisle. Fuck, he looks damn hot, all relaxed in jeans and a gray shirt outlining his perfect shape, his Greek-God-like body. The distance between us closes and I have to tilt my head back to actually be able to look into his heavy eyes from my seat.

"Good morning, miss Steele. Guess we'll be sitting together today.." he can barely contain the mirth in his words. Damn Grey. I recoil in my place, but he still sits right next to me, not even once avoiding my eye's contact. What does he have in mind? I consider standing and leaving, but he reads right through me and tightly holds my arm. "Please, Ana... We need to talk." he sibilates, and I breath loudly under his touch. Energy runs up my body, heating my skin and my bones. Fuck. He's doing his sex-Jedi-thing. Calm. Down. Anastasia.

* * *

**Christian P.O.V.**

She's startled by my touch, and I can't pretend to not rejoice the fact she's still so fucking affected by me. It's amusing, and her eyes close in reprehension as the grin spreads further in my face. Damn you, Anastasia, this is what you do to me. Once she seems steady again, I let her arm go - only to slide my finders down to her fist, slowly opening her fingers and caressing her soft tiny hand. Don't be scared of me, Ana... Please... Let me take care of you.

"Anastasia... When did you intend to tell me you were leaving?" I demand, and only

after I do so do I realize I should've started with lighter, warmer questions. Screw it. Let's cut right to the deal, then.

"Did... Did you do this...? Empty the plane?" her voice sounds preoccupied, but what the fuck does it matter? Yes, I paid a small fortune to have the flight company move the other passengers to have her all to myself, but why does this woman stick to such frivolous details? I roll my eyes before moving my hand to her lap.

"Why does it matter? Yes, I bought all the seats. Do you have any idea how dangerous this could be? What if a terrorist booked this flight? It seems only fair that - if you do not accept flying in my own plane -you at least have this whole one for yourself. And me. Because we have a couple of hours until we meet ground again, Anastasia, and until then there's a lot of catching up to do."

"Our past... relationship does not require any further discussion, Christian" her voice sounds slightly cold and her words are formal, trying to mimic me, I guess, but I can see she's trying hard to make it sound so. "And I would really appreciate if you didn't do stuff like this anymore. I want a normal life."

"You are not normal, Anastasia. You are exquisite. Normal simply won't do for neither of us." I reply gently, trying to grab a hold of her full hand, but she recoils it once more. Die hard, miss Steele? I smile and let her go, but my fingers trail her exposed leg slowly.

"I... We..." she trumbles. Ha! There it is, Grey's affect. Just go with the flow, Anastasia. Just come to me.

"We..." I start, holding tightly to her whole thigh, massaging it with my plain finger tips "should try some arrangement. I think we can make it more than advantageous for both of us." but mostly me, of course. I'll be getting this gorgeous, innocent, warmful, hot as fuck young lady and she... she will have fifty shades of fucked up. In my mind it doesn't look like a fair trade. But in business, fair is what I want. And I want you, miss Steele.

By now, the plane's taking off and I take my turn in checking her seatbelt. She looks assaulted at me, but I don't fucking give a damn. If it's up to her, she'll probably let it so loose that if the plane slightly tilts foward she'll slip right under it. And I can't take that risk. Besides... straining her is still my favorite passtime, and as her waist is compressed by the belt, I lean over her body, knowing she can barely move.

"You have no idea how hot you look right now, do you, Anastasia?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Note: I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to write this new chapter. The whole holiday rush kinda kept me way busier than I had hoped! :) I have received mixed reviews from you guys, so I'd like to clear something up before going on: this is not a flowers and hearts story. It will be painful, and I can't assure if it will indeed have a happy ending because I'm letting it happen as I write it. But this is supposed to be a Christian you'd be scared of, not amazed at. So please, keep that in mind as you review this and the following chapters. **

* * *

**Ana's P.O.V.**

"You have no idea how hot you look right now, do you, Anastasia?" his voice comes out as a hissing sound, surreptitiously if so, and it both amazes and scares me. It holds such devotion, and such a creepy sense of possession... It builds a bond between us, so tight it compresses my very soul against his dark, grave one. They merge and they dance in the silent music of our heartbeats, so close... so dangerously close.

I cannot move, though I try to a couple of times before surrendering under his touch, letting my eyes shut for a brief moment while his fingers trace the path up my arm, around my shoulders into my neck's territory. He knows how to mess with me, he's always known, and he rushes to press the right buttons before I am able to straigthen out my bewildered thoughts. My inner goddess - shut down for some time now - tries do raise to her feet, and it takes me a whole new strength to keep her shut. No. No. This is the last thing I need. I need to think. Racionalize. And there's no space for that when this sexual tension is built between us. And yet... I want him so badly. I realize that now. His touch is almost painful, for I know I must never endorse it again if I want to keep what's left of me, and his breath - warm against my temple, now - distracts me somewhat of my mission. To save myself. To save me from him.

His hands find the my face, though, before I can barely reckon it, and he closes them against my skin as he pulls my lips towards his in what I can only describe as a tortuous .slow-motion movement. Though... it might only be so in my mind, because suddenly I feel my head pound, too heavy for my shoulders, and thanks God the awkward feelings brings me back to the absurd reality surrounding me. I clear my throat and turn my head, escaping from his reach for just a few inches.

"Sir... Would you please take your seat and fasten your seatbelt? We're about to take off." the flight attendant makes an appearance, oh, perfect timing, and breaks the tension between us just enough to make Christian return to his seat, clicking the belt without further talk. I can't bring myself to look at him, frankly because I'm the hell scared of what I might find in his expression. Is he angry at me? Is he sad? The bare thought of hurting him wraps my stomach, and it makes me want to reach out for him, to relieve whatever bad feelings I may cause. But I don't. I pull myself together and face the back of the seat in front of me, drifting into oblivion once more.

* * *

**Christian's P.O.V.**

I'm almost taking what's mine - claiming her mouth again, after so long - when she suddenly pushes me off, and before I can make any other move - and believe, I would have taken her by her hair if she had continued to refuse me like that - the galling blonde, tall and mid-aged flight attendant disturbs us. Disturbs me, actually, since Anastasia seems more than pleased to be freed from my clutch. We'll see about that in a few minutes, miss Steele.

The minutes past ever so lasting, second by second ticking in my head, reminding me of how close I am to the woman who's been haunting both my dreams and nightmares for the last weeks, and just how far she wants to push me. If I had not sensed it - the need in her eyes, the warmth in her skin and the movement, always so eager in her thighs - I might have given up right then. But I know it, now. I know she wants me just as much as I want her. No. I need her. I need this woman so fucking bad I can't make sense out of it! Pull yourself together, Grey! She's just a woman. And the more I try to convince myself of such an unforgivable lie, the deeper she buries herself within me. Once again I wonder if this is what love feels. If this is what love takes from us.

The light indicating the seatbelts must be fasten goes off, and I can sense as she hold tightly to the cushion, startled by the sound coming above our heads as the pilot gives us the usual warnings before the silent takes hold.

When I look at her face - oh, so soft, blushed as usual - I figure out just how much anger boils in my veins. Fuck. This woman, what is it about her? I guess in the end it comes down to what she once told about the work of art in my office: she brings the ordinary to extraordinary. And it pisses me off. Badly. Why couldn't she bee fucking normal? Submissive or not, why couldn't she just be another one? Do you really want that, Grey? That she were another one? No. I want her. Exactly as she is. But mine. Only mine. For my use, for my love, for my care, for my...

She is moving. She excuses herself and stands up, but I catch her hand and hold it roughly between my tough fingers. What the hell?

"What do you think you are doing, Anastasia?" I demand, sounding harsh even to myself.

"For Christ sake, Christian, I'm going to the bathroom. I need to wash my face, I can't handle all this crap." she seems angry at me too, but why should she be angry? What better proof of love, devotion and desire she could've received from any other man? WHO ELSE IN THIS FUCKING planet would've done what I did for HER? How could she be so selfish even now?

"Use the first class' one. You'll be more comfortable" I command and she complies, surprising me and heading toward the first class wing. She CAN obey, then. I grin and let her build some space between us before I follow the same path she took. I can hear the sound of the flowing water - she didn't bother closing the lavatory's door - as I ever so silently approach her figure in the tight space filled with her sweet scent. It takes her about ten seconds to notice me, but by then I'm already pushing her against the mirror, closing the door behind me without giving it a glance. I'm all eyes on her. Her hands try to get a hold on something, but I grasp them and bring them over her head, almost in the ceilling, restraining her.

"Christian... What... Let me go..." she whispers, clearly concerned that someone might hear us. Oh, Anastasia, always so worried. I bring my free hand to her parted lips, shutting her up as I press my hip against hers, forcing her in the sink so she's bound to sit on it, her legs spread around my body. Fuck. She tries to push me, but I only bury myself closer between her thighs, forcing them wide opened with my own legs.

"Can you calm down for once, Anastasia? You want this. I want this. You're fucking mine."

* * *

**Ana's P.O.V.**

I contemplate screaming, but I could not bear the embarrassment of someone running into this scene: Christian's forcing me against the sink, hurting my back and my ass in the hard, wet material it's made of. I try to move, to free myself from his rude grasp, but I'm under the impression the more I fight the wider he opens my legs. Holy cow. This can't be happening. Not here, not like this. All the passion, tension between us minutes ago is gone; fear runs wildly through my blood and it reaches every inch of my awaken body. Let me go, I scream in my mind, and both my subconscious and my inner goddess watch blinded by the horror.

"Please... let me go, Christian... I'm gonna scream. I don't want this. Not like this." I beg, but he's deaf to my pleas. His eyes are filled with luxury, desire, hate, even. Does he hate me? Is he gonna hurt me? Fifty, my Fifty... You're not this. Not this screwed up. Please, let me...

My thoughts are clouded by the sensations following. His mouth so rudely invading mine in a dance of tongues - mine trying to scape the ever so eager envelopment of his - his hand contouring my jeans with urgency, famished of something I can't quite put my finger at. Sex? Pain? What is he willing to take from me? My eyes begin to blur just like my mind and I cry out, flailing in my captivity.

Than it is all darkness. All around me. Inside me. Shutting me down, at last.

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**(Review, pretty pretty please?)**


	6. Read first

**Warning: Some of you have been adressing the issue of Christian's actions and what is most probably rape, so I'd like to use this quick appendix to clear somethings up, shall we?**

**1) Christian does not know rejection. He's always been in control and such response is yet a new feeling for him. He deals with it the only way he knows: anger, possession. He has shut himself off any feeling toward people for so long that I don't think he would truly let himself be SAD. He would just get what he wants by whatever means necessary. **

**2) I know most of the people caught in FSG are in it for the odd romance it holds, but those who are familiar with the bdsm scene can tell that most of the time NO means YES, PLEASE. Refusing, fighting, screaming is all part of some of the scenarios and gives the dom a sense of ultimate control over the submissive's body and mind. That's why there ARE safewords in the first place: in Chritsian's (and some other people in the scene) mind, NO doesn't mean stop. It is only more and more exciting for him as she fights him off. You'll see in the next chapter that the only way she can get the message through him is safe-wording, because he doesn't know any better. **

**3) This is not the Christian you've met in the second and third books of the trilogy. This is how I think Christian would've turned out in real life, considering all things known about him and what so little time they've got together. **

**Hope this clears up the air. :) Next chapter coming up soon. **


	7. Chapter 6

Note: Thanks for all the reviews. No, he didn't rape her, but do not expect him to be soft, guys. You'll be just disapointed. And Yes, he might redeem himself by the end of the torment. But who knows, really? I don't. lol.

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**Christian's P.O.V.**

"Red" I heard out of a distance, and it took me almost a whole minute to be dragged down to earth, down to the shivering woman in my arms as she repeated, her tight voice below a whisper "Red... red... red" the sound turning down note by note, crossing my body directly through my itching cock, desperate for her, and into my terrified mind. Her body had stopped moving and I didn't notice, only now I see how floppy her arms feel beneath mine, and I let her go with a cry of despair.

What have I done? Fuck it, Grey. You screwed up again. Did I hurt her? I try and find bruises, something to explain her sudden safe-wording, but I find nothing besides her closing eyes, the blue pearls I once admired disappearing beneath her heavy lashes. She's sobbing, and I desperately want to reach out for her, hold her once again and shake her out of her misery. But I'm frozen. I cannot move, the reality surrounding me just sinking in: she safe worded. She never did that, even in the worst of my moments, even in the worst of my punishments. I'm scared. I can almost feel her slipping through my shaky fingers, abandoning me for good this time. But instead... She slips literally against the sink, falling - or better, dismantling - to her knees before her whole body collapses in the cold floor.

"ANASTASIA!" I cry out, way louder than I'd hoped, reaching out for her the better I can in the tight bathroom. I have to get her out of here. I grab a hold of her shoulders and wrap her arms around my neck, pulling her against my body, dragging both of us outside the lavatory. I hear the steps of the approaching flight attendant, but I do not bother spending a moment at her cost. I urgently carry Ana's fainted, weak body to a first class' seat, laying her down so she has room to breath and stretch. _Fuck. Fuck. What's going on?_ The floor beneath my feet could just as well part and let me fall across the sky and perhaps I wouldn't feel as lost as I do. As angry as I do. She was almost mine. She took it always from me once again. _Or did I do?_ I don't know what to make out of it, I need to hear her voice, to feel her breath, I'm freaking scared!

"Sir, what's going on? Oh my God!" the flight attendant has reached us and screams in shock when she realizes Anastasia's unconscious beside me. I can read her, even through my clouded mind. She thinks I did it. She considers taking me away from what's mine, but she knows better than to try such silly move, and just to make sure, I growl at her.

"Ahn..." the sound between us startle us both, and I look down to see Anastasia moving her face in what I could only describe as deep anguish. She parts her lips and screams, wrapping herself in her arms. The ocean blue eyes of hers slightly open, but they do not reach for my gaze. They focus on the seat in front of her, opened in utterly terrifying shock. "Don't... don't..." she whispers to herself, closing the grasp around her chest as tears leap down her sweet pale face, no trace of her usual lovely blush remaining.

* * *

**Ana's P.O.V.**

_My senses have been obscured, and all I feel is his touch around my body, hurting my flesh as he deepens his fingers in it. I cry out, asking him to stop, but he doesn't, he never does._

Something's different, though. There's no lavatory around us. I can hear a distant female voice. We're outside, again. I'm safe. I'm safe. He's not touching me. Not anymore. Not for a while now.

Will I ever be safe? I fish my mind from the sea of thoughs it's drowning in, and bring myself to the present I'm facing. My whole body feels like jelly, and thank God there's a seat beneath me, or I could fall endlessly into the air. Falling forever. No sense of solid ground at all. That would be good. Peaceful, at least.

But instead, "Ana... baby... Are you alright? You passed out, have you eaten anything today?" I hear him, and I unconsciously cringe. So I passed out? Has he... What has he... I don't know. I don't feel sore, I don't feel used at all, and the frustrated look in his eyes and the residue of what was his powerful erection tell me he didn't get his way. I feel relieved. I wanted him, so bad, when we were back in our seats. But what he's showed be in the confinement of the lavatory was something I could never erase from my memory. The monster in him, the devil willing to destroy me in his way.

"Ana, answer me!" he demands, and I snap.

"Do not Ana me, Christian! And please, please stay away from me." my voice cripples him, and he just stares down at me.

"What...? Ana... You need to eat. That's why you passed out." he tries to move toward me, but I force my hand against his hips, pulling him away from my seat.

"DO not dare! I passed out because you were about to..." my voice vanishes, for I can't even dare to say it out loud. Would he have raped me had I not fainted? How far he'd go without actually realizing how much he was hurting me?

"I wasn't... No... Ana... Baby... You safe-worded. I wasn't going to..."

"Yes, you were, Christian! For once, if you're not being honest with me, be with yourself. It even surprises me you didn't get your wicked way even then." I cry out loud, and the tears I tried to supress slide down my cheeks. Damn it. I love this man. And it breaks my heart into a millions pieces to know he'd have hurt me if he could. He will, if he can ever again.

He lets go. Eventually. I see his figure moving in the other side of the aisle, but I do not make any attempt to follow it. I want him gone. For now. We'll still have to talk through all that's happened, but one day. Not now. Not right after he almost...

I try to smooth into a fast nap, but find it rather difficult to cut off the memories of his breath, so close, so dangerous, so scary. Chills run down my spine, and I climb my seat as if the floor could suddenly swallow me. I want out. Now. But the hours pass by way too slowly, mocking me as they go by.

* * *

**Christian's P.O.V.**

The sight of Anastasia's eyes wide opened with pure, sheer fear struck me to my bones as she drifts back to reality after her brief meltdown - apparently thinking I'd hurt her, somehow - and I know, right there, that I must let her rest it out if I want to mend what's been torn, so I take a new seat across the plane, after I give specific instructions to the flight attendant about actually attending something and providing immediate food to miss Steele. I make it pretty clear she is to eat, no matter what, and I can sense the fear emanating from her skin_. Yes. You are damn right to be scared of me, woman. _

I check up on her a couple of times, finding her absorbed in thoughts I wished I could share. But I do not dare asking, knowing she could only push me further away. And right now, there's already a whole ocean of coldness between us. And fuck, I don't know why. I still don't know why.

What a creep you are, Grey.

The pilot announces we're half an hour away from landing, and I gather up my forces to stand up and join Anastasia once again. She does not move - for better or for worse, is like I'm not even here. I contemplate what to say, what to do. She's eaten, so perhaps she's already feeling better. Perhaps we can resume what we left behind.

I trace her forearm with my thumb, and she shrinks in her seat almost instantly.

"What is it, Ana...? What is going on?" I try to sound gentle, but her smell intoxicates me, the proximity between us building up the tension I feel around her, ever so slowly. She does not answer at first, and I growl, taking hold of her left shoulder.

"For Christ sake, Anastasia, talk to me or I'll make you." I command, and my action return in an angry, smouldering look from her slighly afire eyes. There's something there I didn't notice before. Something I'm simply not used to. Deception, I suppose.

"What is there to talk, Christian? We are not together, and still you treat me like I'm some kind of property. What you did... I could never forget that. And I don't want to. I want to remember how you could hurt me, so than maybe this crazy unearthly love I feel for you might just go away. I want it to go away!" her words hit me where it hurts most. Love. Again she speaks of love, as if someone like me could ever be loved. I could be adored, and I want her to adore me, but I can't deal with this foolish feelings. And yet, the mere remind of her words warms my heart - or what I suppose it should be one - in a giddily way. Oh, my Anastasia. I don't care if you love me. You can feel whatever fits you, just... Don't leave me.

"Anastasia, you can't deny what we have. Even you can't do that. Oh, you came and found me. You're mine. You know that. That's why your heart is racing and your eyes are shining.."

"I was never yours to do whatever you please, Christian. You had my heart, and you made of it exactly what you wanted. Now it's time to move one. Give up."

"Don't give up on me." I murmur, and her eyes finally meet mine. We stay like this, hooked in each other's sight, until the pilot calls us for landing procedures.


End file.
